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If, chance, his mate's shrill voice he hear,
He drops at once into her nest.

The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear,

We only part to meet again.

Change as ye list, ye winds, my mind shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In ev'ry port a mistress find.

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so;
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

Tho' battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Tho' cannons roar, yet, free from harms,
William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word;
The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
No longer must she stay on board;

They kiss'd-she sigh'd-he hung his head. Her less'ning boat, unwilling, rows to land: Adieu! she cries, and wav'd her lily hand.

I

ANON.

JUST LIKE LOVE.

PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Brabam.

JUST like love is yonder rose,—
Heav'nly fragrance round it throws;
Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose,
And in the midst of briars it blows,
Just like love.

Cull'd to bloom upon the breast,
Since rough thorns the stem invest,
They must be gather'd with the rest,
And with it to the heart be prest,

Just like love.

And when rude hands the twin-buds sever,
They die, and they shall blossom never;
Yet the thorns be sharp as ever,

Just like love.

DAVY.

OLD TOWLER.

O'KEEFE.

-LONGMAN AND CO. LONDON.

SHIELD.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

BRIGHT chanticleer proclaims the dawn,

And spangles deck the thorn;

The-lowing herd now quits the lawn,

The lark springs from the corn.

Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng;
Fleet Towler leads the cry:

Arise, the burden of their song,
This day a stag must die.

With a hey ho chevy,

Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy, &c.

The cordial takes its merry round,
The laugh and joke prevail,
The huntsman blows a jovial sound,
The dogs snuff up the gale:
The upland winds they sweep along,—
O'er fields, through brakes they fly:
The game is rous'd; too true the song,
This day a stag must die.

With a hey ho chevy,

Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy, &c.

THE SWEET LITTLE GIRL, ETC.

BY A LADY.

LONGMAN AND CO. LOND.

HOOKE.

Sung by Master Phelps.

MY friends all declare that my time is mis-spent,
While in rural retirement I rove;

I ask no more wealth than dame Fortune has sent,
But the sweet little girl that I love:

The rose on her cheek's my delight,
She's soft as the down on the dove,

No lily was ever so white

As the sweet little girl that I love.

Tho' humble my cot, calm Content gilds the scene;
For my fair-one delights in my grove;

And a palace I'd quit for a dance on the green
With the sweet little girl that I love.

The sweet little girl, &c.

No ambition I know but to call her my own,
No fame but her praise wish to prove;
My happiness centres in Fanny alone—
She's the sweet little girl that I love.
The sweet little girl, &c.

PEARCE.

HEAVING OF THE LEAD.

PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

FOR England when, with favʼring gale,

Our gallant ship up Channel steer'd, And, scudding under casy sail,

The high blue western land appear'd, To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,

"By the deep-nine! "

And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view,

An abbey-tow'r, an harbour-fort,

Or beacon, to the vessel true;

While oft the lead the seaman flung,

And to the pilot cheerly sung,

"By the mark-seven ! »

-SHIELD

And as the much-lov'd shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear.

Of faith and love a matchless proof.
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung,

"Quarter less-five!

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Now to her birth the ship draws nigh;
We shorten sail-she feels the tide;
"Stand clear the cable," is the cry;

The anchor's gone-we safely ride.
The watch is set; and, through the night,
We hear the seaman, with delight,

Proclaim, "All's well!"

COBB.

AH! COULD MY FAULT'RING, ETC.

GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs H. Johnstone.

MAZZINGH

AH! could my fault'ring tongue impart
The tale of woe that rends my heart,
Ah! then in vain I should not crave
Your pity for a wretched slave!

The injur'd ne'er in vain address'd,
In plaints of woe, a Briton's breast;
Compassion ever marks the brave;
Oh! pity, then, your wretched slave!

Ah! could my fault'ring tongue, &c.

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